Perversion: Here, There and Everywhere
by Lady Emzebel
Summary: Is nothing sacred anymore! Anywhere the Straw Hats go, wild scenarios and hectic emotions are sure to follow in quick sucession. Fill for the Genre/Emotion challange by The Sacred and Profane. Chapter 5: Anti-climactic final chapter is anti-climactic. OTL
1. Bones of the Pharaoh

A/N: Right, so here I'm killing around five birds with one stone. May I present to you a combination of The Sacred and Profane's two challenges, the "Genre Prompt" and the "Biological Prompt". This is also the first out of the three pairings requested by Penniless1. Thus I dedicate this shwack of crack to them. Happy reading.

Title: Bones of the Pharaoh

Rating: T

Parings: Robin/Franky/Brook

Warnings: AU. Perversion. Crack.

* * *

Adventure/Curiosity

In the Valley of the Kings, under the light of the pale full moon, the sand gleamed bright and silver. A scorpion scuttled out from under a rock, only to flee back to its hiding place when a heavy boot came crashing down where it had been moments before.

"Robin! Babe, are you sure it's around here?"

Two figures, one slender and feminine, the other built like a brick wall, hurried down the winding valley, casting twisted shadows on the parched ground and their panting breaths forming little clouds of vapour in the frigid night air of the desert. The woman was tall and dark haired, her raven tresses pulled back in a ponytail under a purple cowboy hat. Her companion was taller still, and had it been daylight, his cyan-hued pompadour and funky Hawaiian shirt would have been blinding.

"Now now Franky, do you really think I'd lead you astray in the middle of the desert? That's much more Professor Roronoa's area of expertise."

After a delightful wedding back in the United Kingdom, the two of them had booked a three week trip to Egypt for their honeymoon. Robin's passionate love for history and Franky's obsession with all things architectural had lead to a fully enjoyable time perusing the tourist locations before the both of them developed the 'itch' on their last night and decided to do a little illicit grave-crashing before they returned home the next morning. Robin for the thrill of discovery and Franky for the...well...sheer Indiana Jones vibe of it all, supposedly.

Without the approval of the SCA, however, the couple had no right to be in the burial place of Pharaohs, hence the mad midnight dash to the newly discovered tomb. But the tip off from their 'special contact' Usopp, who was, quite coincidentally, just passing through, had been just too good to pass up.

"Er honey...maybe you shouldn't diss the guy who owns and is highly capable of using every single weapon from every single time period known to mankind."

"Mr. Roronoa knows perfectly well that I hold him in the highest esteem. In any case, his wife Sanjiko would be monumentally displeased to discover that he had a hand in my messy demise."

Franky let out a small cough that sounded vaguely like "whipped" and Robin chuckled before frowning and coming to a complete, abrupt stop. Franky crashed to the ground behind her, only just stopping short of ploughing his wife into the ground.

"We're here."

"Really?" Franky scrambled to his feet, glancing round excitably. "Awesome!"

"Are you adverse to a little heavy lifting my love?" Robin gestured to a decently sized boulder wedged against a low cliff in the side of the valley wall.

Franky rolled up his sleeves and spat on his hands.

"Anything for you babe."

-X3-

"Super!" Franky breathed as he turned his flashlight to the vividly painted walls.

"We are quite lucky. The fact that the tomb has been sealed since two days ago has kept everything remarkably well preserved. Now come, Mr. Usopp told me that the sarcophagus is a little further on."

Several winding passages and false rooms later, the couple halted inside the grandest room of them all.

"The burial chamber."

The cyan-haired architect let out a low whistle.

"Nami'd have a cow if she were here. Look at all this treasure!"

"Quite opulent is it not? But if Usopp was right, this isn't even the half of it. Brukhaktamun's death mask is supposed to be particularly impressive."

"Brooke who now?"

"Brukhaktamun, dear. That's reputably the name of the pharaoh buried in that little stone box over there."

"Oh right."

"Assist me with the lid would you please? I fear even this would be too heavy for me to move otherwise."

"You got it, babe."

With a grating rasp, the flat slab of stone was slid aside and lowered gently to the floor to reveal a gleaming mass of gold plating and lapis lazuli.

"Yes. The death mask of Brukhaktamun. Glorious isn't it?"

"Forget cow. Nami'd conveive and birth a whale if she saw this."

Franky grinned at his wife, the expression half-lost in the gloom.

"I gotta hand it to you babe; this has got to be the find of a century."

"Indeed. I cannot wait to go home and secure permission to explore further...I wonder..."

The young woman fingered the death mask ponderously.

"Should we open it?" She inquired innocently, her eyes betraying her with a wickedly naughty gleam.

"Won't the experts be able to tell it's been opened?"

"If they do we'll be far away by then. So long as nothing's damaged when we leave, then no harm done."

"You're being surprising reckless babe..."

"It's been a while since I've seen a dead body. Humour me."

Deciding not to dwell on his wife's last statement, Franky gingerly reached for the death mask and slowly, carefully removed it.

Where the bandages around the head hand come free, it could be seen that a withered skull, stretched over with leathery skin and still retaining a few tightly coiled locks of jet-black hair, grinned back at them broadly.

Franky shuddered.

"You know, it's pretty creepy how well they preserve them. Looks almost alive..."

And then the mummy opened its eyes.

"Yohohohoho!"

-X3-

Perhaps the symbols on the tomb should have been fair warning to the hieroglyphic-expert and her husband, but in their defence it was not common in archaeological circles to have to decipher a message such as: "Warning, cursed mummy is extremely horny. Awaken at own risk."

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening."

"My my, the Ancient Egyptians certainly were adept at formulating the most potent aphrodisiacs, weren't they dear?" Robin commented conversationally as she and her husband were gleefully bound with rope and arranged by the perverted mummy as he desired. The pleasant, if somewhat smoky aroma of incense, retrieved from one of the storage jars littering the burial chamber, wafted around the cool dim room.

"WE ARE ABOUT TO BE DEFILED BY A MUMMY, ROBIN! A MUMMY! TELL ME THAT DOES NOT SCREAM OF NECROPHILIA TO YOU!"

"Keep your voice down dear; you'll draw the attention of everyone from here to Cairo if you're not careful."

"I DON'T CARE IF I'M HEARD ALL THE WAY TO ILLINOIS AND BACK! A GODDAMN DEAD PERSON IS ABOUT TO RAPE ME WITH A PHANTOM DISCO-STICK!"

"Fear the all-mighty bone of the Pharaoh! Yohohoho!"

Robin giggled and Franky groaned miserably. Fuck Indiana Jones. He was never going grave-crashing with his wife ever again.

* * *

Don't think this is the end. I still have four more coming up. :D


	2. Naughty Wrinklies in the Closet

A/N: Second instalment! And why yes, this particular OP AU does occur in the UK. I'm so glad you noticed. Happy reading.

Title: Naughty Wrinklies in the Closet

Rating: T

Paring: Tsuru/Kureha

Warings: AU. Mild yuri. Perversion. Crack.

* * *

Soap Opera/Gratification

Red Shanks was aptly named. He was a gangly teen with legs longer than he knew what to do with and shocking ketchup hair. He swore up and down that it wasn't dyed, but as his best friend Benn Beckmann could attest after one vaguely disturbing sleepover, Red did indeed have embarrassingly ginger roots. Despite the school code against this sort of blatant hair colour thing, the teachers were mostly sympathetic and turned a blind eye.

Drake Mihawk was an intimidating name down on paper (not many spoke it aloud for the irrational fear of summoning a demon in teenage clothing) and it rather did suit the boy upon whom it was bestowed. With his scruffy shock of pitch-black hair, skin so pale it appeared almost blue, and those unnatural amber eyes, he looked like a vampire. Not like a stupid, sparkling fake excuse of a Cullen, but a real tear-your-throat-out-bleed-you-dry sort of monster.

A desk was all that separated the two teens from their austere vice-principle. This was indeed a good thing. Had it not been there, the extremities of the young males would have frozen off already in the vicinity of the older woman's frosty aura of impatience.

"Mister Red, I don't want to hear another word! These fights you've been getting into with Mister Drake are simply unacceptable!"

"We're only playing miss! Honest!"

"Indeed Miss Tsuru. They are merely good-natured sparring matches is all."

"Quiet Mister Drake. Whether or not these scuffles are friendly or something else entirely, they are a bad influence on your younger peers! Already young Luffy D. Monkey has been hauled to Nurse Kaya's office with scrapes and bruises with his gang of lackeys not far behind!"

Red sat bolt upright at that, a joyous smile stretching his already over-wide mouth.

"What seriously? Luffy? Haha, awesome! I had no clue the kid had it in him!"

The resulting glare he received almost stopped his heart. Almost.

"You both receive detention. Please report to Madam Sadi's classroom after school at three-oh-five sharp. Failure to comply will result in suspension. Understood?"

As Tsuru shooed them from her office, Red Shanks' eyes widened and he looked horrified at the prospect of their terrifying gym teacher presiding over their punishment whereas Drake Mihawk, unsurprisingly enough, looked vaguely aroused.

"Move brats," snapped a voice a little ways down the hall followed by four resounding thwacks and two high-pitched yelps of terror before the door to Tsuru's office burst open and the biology teacher, Mrs. Kureha Chopper, sauntered in.

"Hey doll face. I gave those two some extra slaps for ya. Ain't I just the duckiest?"

Could this day get any worse?

"Kureha, we are forbidden by law to abuse the children," Tsuru droned. In reality, she couldn't give a flying pig's arse. "Now what do you want Kureha?"

"Awww, can't I just drop in to say hi to you sweet pea?"

"No. What file?"

"Bentham Bonkama. I need leverage to make him stop pirouetting in class. Bloody tranny."

Ah yes. That particular file was kept very close at hand. It was retrieved in a matter of milliseconds and Kureha gratefully swept it under her arm before smirking and taking a swig from the hipflask tucked into the waistband of her low-cut skinny jeans. Tsuru's eyes narrowed, knowing full well that wasn't water she was drinking. Try neat Japanese plum wine.

As if reading her thoughts, Kureha extended the bottle towards her.

"Go on, one sip won't hurt. You look like you've had a rough day."

She was right. Roger D. Gol High was nothing if not full of delinquent miscreants looking to make her life hell by researching everything forbidden in the student handbook and doing it anyway. After sucking her teeth for a furious five seconds, Tsuru swiped the flask from Kureha's hand and took a generous gulp, enjoying the gentle burn of fine alcohol. Kureha's thin lips stretched into a Cheshire cat grin.

"Well honey pie, looks like you needed that."

"Cut it out with names," Tsuru snapped, handing the flask back. "Don't you have a class to teach?"

"Oh most definitely sugar, but I just couldn't possibly walk back to those snivelling wretches without at least making sure your day is fine and dandy."

The vice-principle gave her iciest glare but the biology teacher just laughed.

"Look here chickie. You ever in need of some stress relief..." here she snatched up Tsuru's clipboard (the one holding the sheet that listed all the offenses committed by students that were faxed to her daily to deal out appropriate punishments) and scribbled something on it in blue biro. "You give me a call on my cell, okay?"

Then with a grin and a lecherous wink, Kureha swept out of Tsuru's office, leaving behind the peculiar scent of cherry blossoms and snow.

Tsuru just rolled her eyes and picked up her clipboard, reaching for the intercom.

-X3-

Oh dear god, one more, and she was finally done.

"Buggy Cabinet please report to the front office. Buggy Cabinet to the front office."

She let go of the button before thinking better of it and activating the device again.

"As in, right now please."

Even with her additional message it still took the obnoxious class clown about half an hour to reach her office and knock on the door.

One look at the blue-haired boy with the perpetually red nose and condescending smirk and it was all Tsuru could do not to smack her head against her desk before groping blindly for a bottle of aspirin and downing the whole thing in one.

Instead she told him to take a seat and picked up her clipboard, scanning across for Buggy's offence. As she did so, her eye caught the scrawled numbers in smudged blue ink at the bottom of the crisp white paper.

_Stress relief eh?_

Hmm, maybe Tsuru would take up on Kureha's offer after all.

-X3-

"You know, a cramped storage closet filled with pickled weasel-foetuses during the middle of lunch hour was not what I had in mind!" Tsuru hissed breathlessly as Kureha tore open her blouse while sliding a leg between two pinstripe-clad thighs.

"Take it or leave it sweet pea," Kureha whispered gleefully. "We couldn't have done it at my place after school anyway. My husband gets home around the same time I do."

Tsuru gaped.

"Your_ husband_?"

"Yup. Well...my second one does anyway."

"Your..._second_ husband?"

"That'd be Zeff Blackleg..."

"_THE Iron Chef Zeff Blackleg_?"

"Yup the very same. He's Sanji Blackleg's old man..."

_Sanji Blackleg? Ah yes, that flirtatious blonde senior who just can't leave the girls alone. Which is really rather strange considering his relationship with that green-haired black-belt and his frequent cross-dressing stints...why the fuck do I know all this? _

"...my first husband was Hiriluk...well, he still is my husband...but you know what I mean..."

"_THE Doctor Hiriluk Chopper_?"

"The one and only. As you might have guessed from the name; he's Tony's old man."

_Ah yes, Tony Chopper. The boy has the highest GPA in the school for his age, lead on by his aspirations to become the youngest certified doctor in the world. Having already skipped two grades in school, young Tony is well on his way to scoring the highest GPA in the United Kingdom. That is...if the resident eight year old super genius Robin Nico doesn't beat him to it._

Tsuru slumped against the closet door in stunned silence as Kureha made short work of her bra before diving below her waist to divest her of her control-top panties and pencil skirt.

"So let me get this straight...you've got two husbands..."

"Mmmhmm."

"At the same time..."

"Threesome relationship. No-one can remember who suggested it."

"You've got two sons...one with each husband..."

"Possibly. We're not quite sure who was in where when they were conceived..."

"TOO MUCH INFORMATION THANK YOU!"

"Shhhh! Don't shout! One of the brats will hear you!"

"Oh to bollocks with that! Now where the hell do I factor in all this?"

Kureha gave her a broad toothy grin and patted her consolingly on the arm.

"Well my lovely little goose, I did expressively say we would be doing this for stress relief. Though I suppose if you want to take it further, neither of my husbands will have any objection to a ménage a cinq."

"...I think I'll be just fine with this thank—wait, ménage a cinq? A fivesome? Who's the fifth person pray tell?"

"Well now if I was going to make you a part of my inclusive familial relationship, I'd also have to extend the invitation to a charming young medical student I've been messing around with at the University. Er...Louis...Louis Trafalgar or something is his name."

There was a pregnant pause.

"...you old hussy..."

"Yes dear," Kureha sighed impatiently. "Now can we please stop talking and do the nasty before the bell rings and I'm forced to go back out there and teach a bunch of snotty-nosed brats how to dissect a frog properly?"

Tsuru wordlessly spread her legs and allowed her increasingly rude partner to do dirty, naughty things to her between them, all the while looking extremely amused.

She'd be a big, fat, filthy liar if she said she wasn't just a weenie bit impressed by this woman's juggling skills.

* * *

Oh god. I don't know. I really really don't. Damn you Penniless! I feel so filthy having written this!

...and yet so...so...accomplished. OTL

Psst, a biro is a ball-point pen. Only British.


	3. Not A Sissy Cullen Romance

Title: Not A Sissy Cullen Romance

Rating: T

Pairing: Zoro/Sadi-chan, implied Sanji/Gin

Warnings: AU. Blood/Gore. Perversion. Swearing.

AN: The third instalment. This too is a pairing requested by Penniless1. I'd also like to mention that I abhor Twilight. This is my non-sparkly, as-far-from-stupid-useless-sod-Cullen-as-you-can-get, Vampire One Piece AU. It's got, like, blood and stuff. Hope you enjoy. :3

* * *

Horror/Possessiveness

Like a soldier's tall gaunt lance, the imposing form of Big Ben impaled the sky, its moon-round clock face glowing eerily yellow through the fog-laden night of All Hallows Eve, 1876. Upon the hour, she sounded off, her giant bells ringing out twelve times before all fell silent again.

This being the night of the devil and his minions, the vast majority of London's populace had retired for the night, doors and shutters barred against the chilly air, though several unsavoury characters remained to haunt the streets beside their reputed ghostly companions. One such man lingered in a shadowy ally within the Whitechapel district waiting for his prey to pass by.

What could be seen of the man's hair was dark, dirty blond, and his clothes, though patched and well-worn, were spotlessly clean. His clean-shaven face twisted with a monstrous sort of joy as a prostitute, with pouty lips, a swan-like neck, masses of golden curls and enormous breasts almost bursting out of the strapping scarlet corset dress she wore, passed in front of him and he stepped out silently behind her to pursue his quarry.

Mary Jane Kelly would not be the last...oh no..._she_ was hardly even the beginning. Simply cutting throats and taking souvenirs wasn't enough for him anymore...oh no...after Kelly he'd found that the messy brutal approach was a much sweeter escape from his fastidiously neat home life...he'd make this new whore look like so much mince meat when he was done. The manic grin grew wider as he quickened his step and reached into his cloak for his dagger.

How pretty her blood would look, splattered across the cobblestones and collecting in a lovely red pool around a mangled mess of her carved flesh and tattered pieces of fabric...

The thought was never finished, the gruesome sixth murder never completed, for at that moment another young man lunged from the shadows and floored the would-be murderer with a vicious kick that snapped his spine in half before yanking the man's head back and sinking razor sharp fangs into his jugular, tearing the throat to pieces in an instant.

This bloodsucker, blond, impeccably dressed, and clean shaven save for a small scruff adorning his chin, moaned wantonly as the hot coppery liquid spilled through his parted lips and down his throat, bathing his insides with heat comparable to a gulp of fine whiskey. The dark haired man twitched and gurgled horribly under his clawed hands, blood gushing forth in torrents from his ruined neck and gaping mouth. Indeed, it was a small miracle the vampire was not positively drenched in blood as he quenched his thirst.

Popping out of shadows appeared to have become a popular trend; for no sooner had the blond's victim finally stopped squirming and gone as still as the grave did yet another young man, brawny like a bull, as tan as anyone from the Orient with hair the exact shade of summer grass, spring forth and seize his blond companion, dragging him away from his bloody prize.

"Uwah! What in the blazes do you think you're doing you putrefied piece of moss?"

"Saving your life idiot, now get up there!"

"I'm still bloody eating!"

"Now Sanji!"

The newcomer bodily threw his considerably wirier partner up onto the dilapidated roof of a nearby building and jumped up after him, acutely and wholly uncomfortably aware of appraising eyes on the back of his neck.

-X3-

"Heavens above, what a waste," Sanji lamented, wringing his hands at the thought of the rapidly cooling body he'd been forced to leave behind. "I'll tell you something right now, you malodorous oaf, if you ever make me abandon a perfectly good meal again, I'll kick you all the way to Her Majesty's Indian subcontinent."

His green haired companion just grunted and slumped down on the cobblestoned pavement of the Westminster Bridge. It's not that he was out of breath after their three mile sprint...

"Getting old Zoro?" Sanji smirked, carefully removing a few flecks of blood from his cheek with a lavender silken handkerchief.

...it was just that this _newbie _(well, he _was_ after only a century of being turned) kept running him ragged, making him pursue the blond across London and back, trying to keep him out of trouble.

"Hardly."

Sanji didn't deign to join him on the pavement, instead choosing to conjure a fine enamel pipe out of nowhere, light it, and give it a few hearty puffs.

"Good to see you're off the opium now, cheese-head," Zoro huffed grumpily. He didn't take kindly to comments about his age.

"Quiet low-life, I'm drinking in the air that I'd rather you not pollute with your foul temperament."

Zoro snorted.

"Where are your swords by the way?"

He was of course referencing Zoro's katana, three priceless gifts bestowed unto him by the late Vampire Duchess Kuina, a shadowy stall merchant, and the infamous Vampire Slayer Ryuuma, respectively, as he travelled the Orient. The swords bearer fingered his right hip briefly, missing his three sharp-edged companions as dearly as he might miss his own head. For his mission tonight though, wearing such weapons would be detrimental.

"It's too dangerous to wear them around these parts; I might draw unnecessary attention to myself while I'm running around the scabby areas keeping your arse safe from nasty men with a taste for pretty blond boys. Do you realise how much safer and easier it would be for you if you just snuck into some fancy Kensington abode, knocked a couple wenches unconscious and took a pint or so from each one?"

"Oi," Sanji uttered threateningly, shoving a steel-capped toe menacingly under the other man's nose. "As a human I never once laid a hand on a woman to harm her, and I don't intend to start now as a bloodsucker."

They lapsed into silence once more.

"What were you doing in Whitechapel anyway? We don't hunt in the same area anymore."

Sanji winced, remembering the trashed buildings that baffled the public police force come morning and the vicious reaming out the two had received from their clan leader Juraquille.

_If you two can't go a moment without competing over something entirely ludicrous, I forbid you from hunting within a mile of one another!_

Zoro was quiet, mulling things over. He figured he didn't owe his fellow bloodsucker the truth and hitched a smirk onto his lips.

"Like I said, I was watching out for your pretty little _derriere_ as it were."

Sanji's one visible blue eye seemed to glow red in the dim lighting. Zoro rolled his eyes but heeded the wordless warning.

"I dunno. I guess our paths crossed is all."

"Hmph. Damn shame they did. That scumbag didn't taste half as diseased as the other squatters around...too bad you chased me off before I could drain him fully. Well, at least I was doing that lovely...er..._lady of the night_ a favour. That wretch would have gutted her groin to sternum had I not intervened..."

Zoro almost tore his viridian hair out in frustration.

"Damnation Sanji, let's just call you the bloody Vampire Prince and be done with it! Has it ever occurred to you that some women don't need protection? Especially not from the likes of us?"

Sanji bristled, his sharp teeth bared in a blood-stained snarl.

"How dare..."

"That so-called _prostitute_ was Sadie Chandler, a goddamn vampire slayer you moron! One of the best in the trade too! Why else do you think I got us out of there so fast? Or do you want to end up a pile of charred ash in the dirt?"

A brief pause as Sanji contemplated this.

"Well, I'd rather die at the hand of a delightful buxom beauty like her than a wrinkled old-timer reeking of mothballs and tobacco."

"Tch. You would. Look, that woman can sense one of our kind at fifty paces. And when she does..."

Zoro wasn't squeamish by any means, but remembering Gin's smouldering, stinking remains was enough to turn the stomach of any hardened vampire. He stood, brushing off his pants with a few half-hearted swipes.

"...it's not pretty. You remember Krieg's right hand, yeah?"

Sanji abruptly snuffed out his pipe, the embers scorching a hole near straight through the thumb of his leather glove, and turned away. The smoke must have stung his eyes or something to make them water like that. The last time Zoro accused Sanji of crying the blond had broken his nose and sworn he'd choked on his last sob a century ago when his only father figure in the world wasted away from consumption and died of starvation on the streets.

They left it at that.

"So, you still hungry?"

"What I siphoned off that last bastard was quite sufficient."

"Need I hold your hand while you walk back to Lady Kalifa's house, mamma's boy?"

Sanji promptly kicked him into the Thames.

"Speak for yourself daddy's bitch, or did you forget about Big Papa Juraquille? Don't talk to me like I'm four!" the blond hollered after him as he soared beyond the glow cast by the streetlamps into the pitch black waters below.

When he resurfaced, Zoro was soaking wet, bruised on his left buttock from Sanji's wicked kick, and smelling faintly of eau de sewage. But he was satisfied. While dragging up the subject of Gin to the foolish blond never truly sat right with him it was necessary.

Zoro Roronoa wasn't any ordinary vampire. He didn't go for dainty, weak-willed women. Unlike his partner Sanji, he didn't like the flouncy, fickle women of high society.

No. He liked strong women, born and bred in the dirt, those who clawed their way up the food chain and sat themselves on top of the pecking order; hunter to all, prey to no-one. In other words, a vampire slayer. It was imperative that that loose woman's attention was not flagged down by the flashy blond fool. Doubtless, the love-struck moron would kneel at her feet and kiss her pointy leather shoes if she so commanded, and Zoro had worked far too hard to seduce her to ever allow that to happen.

Zoro's grin was feral as he set off for the Whitechapel district once more.

_Stay up for me Sadie._

* * *

So who doesn't love a good gory gritty vampire romance set in Victorian London, eh?

So yeah Mary Jane Kelly is reputed to be the last known victim of Jack the Ripper, legendary serial killer of prostitutes in the Whitechapel district in London (not a very nice place apparently, due to overpopulation). Records of the murders show that Jackie boy seemed to devolve the more he killed. He started with slashing a poor girl's throat and gutting her. Then he escalated to slashing throats, gutting, and taking souvenirs (as in body parts). Finally, Mary Jane Kelly was found completely mutilated (face hacked to pieces, torso ripped apart, horrible stuff) with her heart missing.

R.I.P Jack, you malodorous ol' son of a bitch you. :D (Fuck yeah, vampire!Sanji would annihilate his ass!)


	4. Hellfire

A/N: Only having a Disney song stuck in my head for five straight hours could ever compel me to write such a thing. Guess which one; it's not obvious _at all_. (Oh yeah, switch a few words around in that baby and it would be _made_ for the unrequited pairing below. X3) All joking aside though, this has got to be one of the darkest, most depressing things I've ever written; I might actually have to tweak the title and summary to accommodate this little black sheep. And to think it all started off as Kuma in front of a fireplace doing a musical number...OTL

Title: Hellfire

Pairings: All within are implied.

Rating: M

Warnings: AU. Violence/Gore. Severe language. Character death.

* * *

Historical Drama/Vengeance

Rain fell in miserable torrents, drumming out a melancholy symphony on the empty gallows in the city square and gathering in the deep gashes wrought in the wood by the make-shift weapons of a furious mob. The bodies of the Parisian judicial guards littered the cobblestone ground, stuck through with pitchforks and scythes, the tools of the peasantry, and left to bleed out like pigs under the sobering sky.

"And so it is that God weeps as I have failed him," Judge Bartholomew Kuma muttered to himself, absent-mindedly dabbing at the blood dripping down his face, mingling with the bitter rain.

Guards had been stationed in, around, and even above the execution grounds, but still the gypsies had infiltrated and stolen back one of their own, the notorious fire-eater Ace Portgasus, from the very clutches of death itself. Ace's younger brother led the rescue mission, his loyal band of followers and almost every other gypsy under the command of their king close behind. As the fiery-eyed contortionist batted back armed guards with his leather-bound fists alone, Luffy's right-hand man cut through the noose that would have ended Ace's life.

Judge Kuma had had a huge problem with that and called upon his divine mighty God to guide his hand before drawing his sword and stepping forth into battle. His pains had gained him nothing but a gash in his side and an oozing wound above his right eye, a blow that has dazed him as Zoro Roronoa, _Le Diable d'Épées_, smirked down at him with fathomless black eyes and licked a rivulet of blood from his gleaming blade.

"_You will not touch another of ours_," was the hissed threat before Roronoa retreated after his fellow gypsies, somehow gaining access to the Parisian rooftops and making his escape across them as gracefully as any feline.

"_Oh Roronoa, we will see about that."_

-TAT-

"_Ten pieces of silver for Roronoa. Le Diable d'Épées."_

"_..."_

"_Take them to the Bastille! Lock them away!"_

As evening approached, staining the sky with angry streaks of red, Kuma stood before a great stone fireplace within the Bastille, deaf to the faint howls of pain and gabbled pleas for mercy seeping through the thick stone below his feet from the prisoners in the lower levels being treated to the thumbscrew, the whip, and, of course, the wheel. He stared into the flickering flames, silent and still, contemplating.

"_Twenty pieces of silver for Roronoa. __Le Diable d' Épées__."_

"_..."_

"_Guards!"_

Since that time with Roronoa, the judge had made it his business to seek out all the gypsies in the city of Paris, to smoke out their bustling verminous hive of thievery and sin, and crush them all like ants under a giant thumb. But not Zoro Roronoa. Oh no. That particular ant he would play with, would dissect and burn slowly with a candle wick. One. Piece. At. A. Time. All semblance of mercy fled his righteous soul as a slow, all-consuming poison, like hellfire, spread through his veins, igniting him with the desire for blood, specifically that of the golden-skinned, mossy haired gypsy boy. Roronoa would pay dearly for humiliating Judge Kuma, he would pay for it with first his pride, then his sanity, and finally with his life.

"_Fifty pieces of silver for Roronoa. Le Diable d'Epees!"_

"_..."_

"_One hundred."_

"_..."_

"_To the Bastille! Not one is to live past sunset!"_

But so far, the search had dredged up naught of consequence, but the Bastille's dungeons were filled to the brim with the scum of Paris, gypsy and not-gypsy alike. The guards would have to start executing them soon, on the sly of course; it would not do to have another public spectacle like that of Portagus' botched execution.

Bells rang out across Paris, and Kuma was shaken from his reverie. He crossed the room, his leather-encased feet making no noise as he glided over the smooth stone flags to the window. Notre Dame continued to sing, summoning the holy men within her to vespers. From such a distance there would be no way he would hear their words, but he could easily imagine them so often had he attended evening prayer with his devout late mother.

_Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti...Beatae Mariae semper Virgini...Beato Michaeli archangelo...Sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis..._

Let those foolish monks chant their lungs out in Notre Dame, let them fill up her soaring stone eaves with their spineless sermons of forgiveness. God would cast them to hell for allowing its wretched filth, the blackest of demons, to crawl up from the depths and walk the earth in human skin. Such fine-looking human skin too, what with its graceful roving migrations over iron-hard muscle and its glossy sheen of sweat...

"He will be mine," Kuma murmured as he wandered slowly back to his place before the fire, a dangerous spark of insanity alighting in his stormy-grey eyes like a flash of God's deadly lightning. "Or he will burn!"

-TAT-

"P-please Judge K-Kuma...please...my f-f-family has done n-nothing! We would harbour n-no g-gypsies under our roof for however much m-money they could offer, let alone t-the infamous one you s-seek!"

"You lie," Bartholomew intoned solemnly as he stared down at the shaking book-binder. "Tear the place apart. I _will_ find their hiding place."

Armoured guards shouldered past the young swarthy-skinned man with the long nose into his inoffensive cottage. There was a screech from within and two guards returned, dragging the man's wife with them as she clung to a wailing swaddle of cloth.

"Let me go you brutes! You have no right! No right! There is no purpose to this Inquisition! We are not hiding_ Le_ _Diable d'Épées_! Zoro Roronoa has not passed this threshold!"

"And how would you know for whom we search wench?"

"Hah!" the girl scoffed, "Who doesn't know that? It's all over Paris, even here on the outskirts! Honorable"—here she looked like she'd swallowed something repulsively slimy—"Judge Bartholomew Kuma offering incalculable wealth to the, man woman or child to bring him Zoro Roronoa. It's madness! You won't find him here!"

"Shut up stupid bitch!" one of the guards snarled as he thrust her away from him. The young woman, practically still a girl, stumbled and fell at the feet of her husband who immediately stooped to help her back up again. The screaming of the baby in her arms reached fever pitch as the poor mewling child sensed the turmoil he could not yet understand.

"Hush love, hush. Mama's here, Tony, mama's here...so is papa..."

She tapered off as triumphant shouts echoed from within the dwelling. Both she and her husband paled, turning sickly green, and the young man seized his beloved in his arms and held her tightly, already starting to pray.

More guards returned with four captives within their grasp, one woman and three men. The female was willowy and bewitchingly beautiful with nut-brown skin and long black hair. The youngest male was a tall, slender, blond teen, his one eye a sparkling blue, the other hidden behind an eye patch. The next man was taller than the first, but brawny like a bull; it took five guards alone to subdue him. Kuma curled his lip in disgust at this particular gypsy's hair, dyed by freakish means an eye-scorching blue. The final man was also tall but stunted with age, bony like a skeleton with voluminous salt-and-pepper hair. Were one to judge them by their appearance, they were a conjurer, a dancer, or perhaps a thief, a strong man and a rickety old musician.

They were not the knife-wielding sword-swallower he sought.

"Gypsies, Judge Kuma. We found them under a trapdoor in the floor."

"Gypsies? Oh heavens no, Judge Kuma, they are my relatives from...from ..."

Kuma ignored him, spurring his horse forward so that if he deigned to look down, which he did so, he could scrutinize the blond male, _the one closest to Roronoa's age,_ he thought. However, the oceanic gaze seemed to slide right through him, as if he was as transparent as glass.

"Any amount of money you desire...plus your freedom...if you tell me where Roronoa is."

The boy blinked slowly, languidly, almost like his life didn't depend on the words that slipped through his lips.

"Roronoa? Not Luffy Portagus nor his brother, Ace? Not even the Gypsy King, Whitebeard?"

No. I want _Le Diable d'Épées_. Tell me where he is."

The boy actually had the nerve to snort, that piercing orb still not focusing directly on Kuma.

"Rot in hell, shit-Judge."

The judge's eyes narrowed to slits and with a quick sideways glance at the other gypsies, all of whose expressions matched the blond's words to a tee, he wheeled his horse around to speak to the book-binder.

"You have lied to a minion of God. Before all those who witness, you told me, one who is in service of Him, that you hid no gypsies from us..."

"For money, sir!" the book-binder said in a strained whisper, his arms still clutching his wife and son in a protective embrace. "We would not have hidden them for all the money in the world."

"No...you would hide them for nothing. How disappointing. But no matter..."

He reached out with one gloved hand and traced a cross upon the brow of the babe, dark like his father and as lovely as his mother, too fast for the red-head to step back. Around her, her husband and the gypsies, excluding the deadpan female, shuddered in horror.

"I will send you to paradise. That is where you most want to go, yes?"

Even the gypsy woman balked at that and Kuma smiled pleasantly.

-TAT-

Sitting calmly on his horse even as the sound of agonised screams rent the air, Judge Kuma breathed a sigh of relief. He could almost taste it; the stench of burning flesh was so thick on his tongue.

"And so their souls shall ascend to heaven as they do suffer. Amen."

"You're a monster! Those people...those poor souls had committed no crime nor did they try to hurt you!"

The judge half turned in his saddle, sparing a contemptuous sneer for the two young men bound and thrown at his horse's feet in the mud.

"They concealed dangerous criminals within their house, kept them hidden so that we might not exact jutice, God's will, upon them...

"God would not condone such mindless cruelty!"

Kuma's fingers tightened fractionally around the miniature bible he kept on his person at all times.

"Well well Coby; I certainly wouldn't have expected such wicked acts of treason from the very Captain of the Guards himself nor his...two-bit lackey."

"Treason! You call this treason? That I would not bar a man, his wife, his babe and a third-o'-a-dozen others inside his homestead and burn it...that is treason? You bastard, how could you!" Furious tears streamed down the face of the shorter man, Coby, as he glared up at his superior while his companion, though silent and shaking in terror, accompanied this insult with a vicious wad of spit that splattered the hem of Kuma's robe. The judge kicked out, catching the blond under his cleft chin and sending him sprawling backwards spitting out a tooth and copious amounts of blood.

"Helmeppo!"

"M-mm a-al-alright C-Coby," the young man mumbled as his bitten tongue rapidly started to swell.

"Execute them," Kuma ordered coldly, his gaze no longer on the two in the dirt but at their assembled men. They all looked discomforted; seven strangers they could handle sending up in smoke, no problem, but their well-loved captain and a fellow comrade was another matter entirely. Finally, one stepped forth, a behemoth of a man with silvery hair sheared close to his scalp, a badly mangled jaw, and an axe lurking in his belt.

He approached the judge, kicking his former captain out of his path as he did so. There was a painful crack when his heavy boot made contact with several ribs and Coby bit clean through his lip trying not to cry out.

"Allow me Judge Kuma; these sinners must be disposed of."

"And you are?"

"Morgan, sir."

"Consider yourself promoted, _Captain_ Morgan."

Still in a daze from the judge's kick, Helmeppo was hardly aware that he was being dragged away through the mud until he was bodily thrown into a low wall, ah, the boundaries of the young book-binder's property. The stone edge caught him sharply in the diaphragm and he choked and wheezed trying to get air back in his lungs. Another muted thump and gasping a little ways to his left alerted him to his captain's presence (no, not that Morgan son-of-a-bitch) but Cody, also violently shoved against the wall.

Helmeppo shifted, twisting his head to the side. There was no way the last thing he ever saw was going to be anything else but his loyal friend and comrade.

"Y-you a-alright?" Coby managed.

"M-muh h-hung hurfs. Yu?"

"B-broken ribs...nothing t-too severe. I-I'll l-live..."

Helmeppo could have sobbed at the irony but stayed silent when he felt a foot press roughly against his spine. He wouldn't give that damn whore-monger the satisfaction of seeing his fear of his inevitable impeding death.

"You first."

As the axe whistled on its swift journey downwards, Coby kept his eyes dutifully open for his dear friend, knowing that to close them, even as the first vicious blow sank into Helmeppo's right shoulder, would be akin to turning his back on the other man and denying him his love. He would..._could_ never do that, not even for the sake of his own sanity.

It took four more strikes to end Helmeppo's life, three in his side, hacking clean through the liver, and the final one in his neck, and Coby watched it all, feeling pieces of his heart shrivel up and die as the light flicked and was eventually snuffed out in those bright hazel eyes.

"Hmmph, to his credit, the nasty little sodomite didn't even let out a squeal," Morgan huffed, wiping his brow free of sweat as he let Helmeppo's lifeless body slump to the ground, bloody and broken.

Coby blocked out the words; his limbs were far too heavy, his mind too sluggish to even attempt attacking the monster who'd slaughtered his companion. He would not let those disgusting words get to him, would not let them tarnish the memories he had of his childhood friend.

_Oh but that I could have avenged you my Meppo..._

Then he closed his eyes and gladly accepted his death as the axe swung down once more.

-TAT-

The sun was at its pinnacle in the periwinkle sky as a lone fox scurried along the bank of the Seine, about a mile upriver of Paris. It bent its head to lap from the swiftly flowing river, still unpolluted by the hairless masses in the great stone den many lopes away, then quickly straightened up, amber eyes blinking as the keen ears twitched about. Suddenly, he fox turned and bolted into the long grass of a nearby field, the long bushy tail vanishing out of sight just as a trio of men came into view. Coming from such a long way away, they seemingly just trickled into existence, conjured from the shimmering waves of heat dancing atop the very dirt road they walked.

The first male was the shortest, perhaps the youngest too, judging by his round boyish face and toothy easy-going grin. Though he went barefoot, and his brilliantly scarlet clothing was dusty and tattered, the straw hat atop his raven-haired head gleamed proud and golden in the afternoon sun.

The man behind him was shirtless, his tan skin the same shade of the bronzed wheat field to their right and his hair a hue of shocking emerald green. The man's sweat-stained tunic was half stuffed in his belt, effectively concealing three long, wickedly sharp knives and their grubby leather sheathes.

Bringing up the rear was a gaunt fellow of average height with dark hair and cold eyes.

"The lands to the south are warm, there live the silly Spaniards. Their heads sometimes get really hot, and they're all morons!"

"What the hell are you singing?" exclaimed the tattooed male in oddly accented French.

"Just ignore him, physician, he'll get tired eventually."

"I told you, I have a name, Roronoa," the man said coldly, his cold reptilian eyes blinking slowly, menacing. "It's Trafalgar. Or Master Lawman if you feel like getting on my good side...stupid Frenchman."

_Le Diable d'Epées_ just tossed the irate man a lazy smirk.

"Hah! I'm the stupid one? Now who among us here had to be rescued from the scaffold for doing the acts of the devil? You filched rotting bodies from fresh graves...in broad daylight no less."

"Hmph. Those bodies were offal, mere useless bags of meat that once belonged to murderers and crooks alike; no one would have truly mourned if I were to take them use them for my experiments. I was doing the locals a favour really, opening up all that available grave space."

"Yes...but in broad daylight? Tell me, are all you Britons so foolish? Or are you just scared of the dark, _Master Lawman_?"

"What with the way you're annoying me, you'll be lucky you don't wake up chopped apart and stitched back up again. It's no wonder my country would gladly invade yours and keep you on your toes for centuries on end."

"Threats now Trafalgar? Is that the way you treat your saviours, hmm?"

"All I'm saying is that my coming with you here to your filthy country's hellhole of a capital better be worth my while."

"The lands to the north are cold, there live the bolshie Britons. Their heads shiver around all day long, and they're all morons!" the boy leading the trio sang out, joyfully kicking his feet in an odd imitation of dance.

"Well, isn't that the truth," Trafalgar muttered, coaxing a laugh out of his green-haired agitator.

"I think our friend appreciates your choice of song, Luffy."

The boy ahead of them turned on his heel and gave a broad grin, continuing towards their destination in a vaguely militant march even as he faced backwards.

"Well of course he does Zoro," he laughed. "I've got a beautiful singing voice."

"That you do," the swordsman humoured as Trafalgar snorted.

"Haha, friend indeed. You French certainly are strange. As I said before I'm only here to clear a debt, not to mention all those bodies you promised...which leads me to one question; where do they come from exactly?"

"The livelihood of a gypsy depends on the generosity of townsfolk. Happy townsfolk give you money. Sad and pissed off townsfolk don't give money. We protect the interests of those in our troupe by—eliminating, shall we shall?—yes, eliminating the people who make the townsfolk sad or pissed off. You'd be surprised how the bodies mount up after a while."

"So you essentially do the jobs of the Parisian Judicial Guards for them?"

"...yeah. Let's go with that."

"And by 'we' I presume you mean you and...er...Luffy?"

"Not just us two," Luffy chipped in, falling back to fling a friendly arm around the physician's shoulder. Trafalgar wrinkled his nose in "There are more of us, I'm the ringleader and Zoro's my right hand. You should see him in battle...hoowee...scary! But not as scary as me of course..."

"...I see. And who are these others?"

Zoro fell into content silence as he let his leader chatter away to the English doctor about their four other comrades, plus the kindly couple and their child who housed them when winter was particularly harsh, while the swordsman dwelled on one in particular.

"...Robin...she's really smart...her husband Francis...he's got blue hair! Old man Brook is really old but he plays a mean lute...oh and there's Nami...she hits people...and Usopp...he lies...they feed us sometimes when money is short...and they have a kid, Tony... ooh, and just wait until you meet Sanji...he can cook anything and make it edible, and I do mean everything..."

Ah yes, Sanji, _Le Prince Noir_, so named by his fellow gypsies for his black clothing and suave nature; that man could pick the pockets of any and all of the tight-fisted misers in France and still have time to charm the undergarments off unsuspecting kitchen maids and stable boys.

_And sword-swallowing gypsies it seems_, Zoro allowed himself a smirk at the thought as he continued to amble after his troupe leader and newly acquired physician. Then the wind changed direction and Luffy stopped abruptly, raising his nose to the air, sniffing something, while Zoro halted behind him, his hand inching towards his hidden blades. Besides being able to bend his body into impossible shapes, the contortionist was something of a human bloodhound. His sense of smell bordered on that of unnatural, practically beastly, allowing him to pick up certain dangers that Zoro's acute intuition could not.

Trafalgar, unused to this, stopped and inclined his head quizzically, watching the rigidly observant pair.

"What is it?"

It was a while before Luffy spoke up and answered.

"I smell something...burning..."—he took another sniff—"...downriver from here..."

"Well, did you not hear the news in that last town we stopped at? The heat has caused several fires in and around bustling metropolitans..."

"...this is closer."

The two gypsies looked at one another for a split second, their eyes going impossibly wide, and then they both took off in a mad sprint...in different directions.

"What the...hey!" Trafalgar swore violently and hurried after Luffy, knowing him to be the less directionally-challenged of the two, still unsure of what was going on. With any luck, and God knows this odd pair had it in abundance; Zoro would eventually end up at their destination anyway.

-TAT-

The young red-headed woman had not lied when she claimed she and her husband were not hiding _Le Diable d'Épées_, nor had she lied when she said that he hadn't passed over the threshold. At the time of Kuma's inquisition Zoro was away in the Normandy region with their troupe leader, seeking out a potential physician whose gruesome reputation preceded him. Furthermore, not one of the gypsies they sheltered, even Roronoa, had ever passed over the threshold, instead entering into their hidden cellar from the Parisian sewers through a secret passageway that had been built by the book-binder's cousin, the blue-haired strong man, when the front doors of all the peasantry were under close scrutiny.

But none of that mattered now, not while the cottage, plus its barn and even its fields were blackened scorched. Hardly anything but ash remained, and still some fell from the heavens, blanketing the charred earth like snow. That and the chill that permeated the entire area gave the illusion of winter, a time of cold and death. A thick acrid haze of smoke still lingered in the air, and while the aroma of burnt flesh was not present, all three of the men were sure it would only take a short time digging through the debris before they found the bodies of their comrades.

Zoro stared at the smouldering ruins for a long, long time, having arrived only moments after the other two despite all his wrong turns, shortcuts and detours. Luffy stood at his side and though his straw hat shaded his face, the tears trickling down his scrunched up, soot-dirtied face were unmistakable. Trafalgar lingered a little ways behind the contortionist, his hands clasped respectfully behind his back and his face schooled into an expression of sympathetic indifference.

"There are two bodies by that wall over there. They are not your friends?" he asked, his voice calm and soft. Zoro knew whom he talked about; he'd seen the two twisted, bloody figures before he'd stumbled a few extra steps towards were the cottage had once been. He'd been shot through with a short-lived relief at the realization that bodies could not possibly belong to their friends; the dead couple had been two males, but neither one of them resembled Sanji, Francis or Brook.

Apparently Luffy had seen them too because it was the contortionist that turned to face Trafalgar, his eyes bloodshot and glassy with homicidal rage.

"No. No they were not."

"Then it was plausible they did not suffer...a fire this size...it kills quickly."

"They died a traitor's death."

The two stared at Zoro, eying his broad back with mild trepidation.

"What?"

"The two by the wall...they wore wrist grieves and breast plates...they were judicial guards and they died a traitor's death. Their executioner had a shoddy aim though..."

"What does this mean?"

"They forbade orders. Possibly the orders to burn down the cottage."

"Forbade whose orders?"

Luffy, as slow as he could be at the best of times, caught on quickly to this train of thought.

"Judge Bartholomew Kuma."

The trio was silent for a moment, contemplating.

"...I would be pleased to dissect the monster who did this to your loved ones if you'd allow me? While he still lives, of course, to ensure maximum discomfort."

But Zoro shook his head, his grief fuelling the hellfire of rage broiling in his chest.

"You can have him after we're done."

Luffy cracked his knuckles, each hollow click echoing like a shot from a _pot-de-fer, _a demonic scowl twisting his lips and brow.

"That is...if there's anything left."

* * *

A bit longer than I expected, but wheyhey, more for you right? ...I'm still in a slight state of shock that I just killed off pretty much all of my best-loved pairings in one fell swoop. *weeps*

Historical Notes:

Notre Dame is a massive cathedral in Paris. I've been there and I kid you not, the thing is bloody huge...and pretty. Yay for exploiting taxpayers for useless pretty things! :D

The Bastille was this big-ass fortress/prison in Paris—used to imprison people, torture them, execute them, the whole lot—kinda like the Tower of London in England. However, unlike London's Tower, the Bastille no longer stands as it was torn down by the citizens of Paris (with their bare fuckin' hands no less!) during the French Revolution. That was the point in time when ordinary people got sick of paying taxes for useless pretty things. *nod nod*

Law references the Hundred Years War (actually 116 years long but whatever, nobody knew how to count then) which was technically going on at this time (late 1300s). However, there were periods of peace within this war so let's say that's the reason Luffy and Zoro haven't torn Law to shreds right now. I decided to call him Trafalgar in this after the famous square in London, England...his hometown...supposedly...in my head cannon...yeah.

A lute is basically a medieval guitar.

A _pot-de-fer_ was the first type of cannon to be used by the French during the Hundred Years War. Thank god for these early cannons as I do so hate having anachronisms in my stories. *twitch*

Translations:

_Le Diable d'Épées_: The Devil of Swords

_Le Prince Noir_: The Black Prince

On one final note...I'm not quite sure why Zoro of all the OP characters has become quite so prominent in this selection of fics. *quizzical look*


	5. World Domination is Not a Piece of Cake

Title: World Domination is Not a Piece of Cake

Rating: K+

Pairing: Zoro/Usopp

Warnings: You know the drill by now.

* * *

Bishounen (Hetalia)/Resignation

Zoro Roronoa, the anthropomorphic personification of the country Germany, was stuck inside doing paperwork. Forget the fact that he'd rather be outside training his troops, swinging around the swords Tashigi, who represented Japan, had given him; work had to be done.

Despite the fact that Zoro was distinctly not-Aryan (the green hair and exotic tan was pretty much a dead giveaway), he had his vision for the perfect race. Never mind what that may be; Zoro was pretty open-minded, so long as it didn't include curly-browed cooks. Yes, Sanjicide was the only way to restore former glory to the once great nation of Germany. And given that Sanji was the anthropomorphic personification of France, Sanjicide would be roughly about half the population of Zoro's detestable neighbour, by his approximation.

Actually, come to think of it, he also had a thing against crooked, ginger-haired misers with too much wealth and a deep-seated grudge against philanthropy of any kind. Right, fuck Nami-Switzerland's neutrality policy; Zoro was gonna go in there, guns blaring, to hell with what the money-grubbing harpy said.

"Zoro! Zoro! Sanji-nii is trying to take my vital regions! Help meee!"

Deep sigh.

The ever-cowardly Usopp-Italy bolted through the open door of his office, and flung himself into Zoro-Germany's lap, quivering with terror. With the distinct air of a man much resigned to his duty of babysitter and teddy bear to the Mediterranean nation, Zoro-Germany patted the trembling male's curly head and bestowed a wurst-flavoured kiss to Usopp-Italy's brow.

"_Mein Gott, Sie sind nutzlos. Warum Ich liebe dich_?"

* * *

I realised the other day I didn't finish this prompt entirely. This is so short and crappy I might as well have not written it at all. OTL

Translation: My God, you're useless. Why do I love you?


End file.
